


Smile, Open Wide, Let's See What's Inside

by stanzas



Series: Sign Here And Leave Your Name At The Desk [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adopted Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Medical, Dentist Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Model Victor Nikiforov, background Chris Giacommetti/Phichit Chulanot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stanzas/pseuds/stanzas
Summary: “You should propose with a tooth instead of a diamond on it,” Yuri suggests out of the blue, and sighs when the game character on his screen falls off and dies again. He’s stuck on level 86, and his death count is in the low thousands. Not that Yuuri’s keeping track. “It's romantic.”“That might be one of the most repulsive ideas you've ever shared,” Yuuri tells him, without looking up from his phone.Alternatively: Yuuri has A Plan (maybe), Victor has issues, and Yuri just wants to play hockey.





	Smile, Open Wide, Let's See What's Inside

**Author's Note:**

> HELMO WELCOME TO MY GARBAGE DUMPSTER OF DENTIST FACTS AKA where i scream about how flossing is important, and unlike the first part, spend like 9% of my time talking about dentists and the other 91% of the time focusing on their relationship which honestly i should have done to begin with, but who fuckin cares my pals! they're in love and i'm capitalizing off all the comments from the other fic that said i should continue this and i one hundred and fifty fuckin percent succumb to peer pressure. i mean i had ideas for part 2 before i wrote part 1 but i really didn't think anybody was gonna read it lmao.  
> i know i didn't reply to any of the comments on part one ~~because i am a shy gay baby~~ but believe me friends i read every single one of them and used them to fuel my burning inspiration and fight the unmotivated demon that churns oil to fuel my soul and single-handedly fend off my consuming depression  & desire to cease existing on this mortal plane of existence.
> 
> huge s/o to my beautiful stunning amazing beta [lena](http://gayforov.tumblr.com), who willingly subjected themselves to my fic in it's unedited, diseased form. instead of my usual method of uhhhh dumping all my unfiltered messy ideas straight to this hellsite and accepting death. 
> 
> anyway make sure you read the end notes there's a surprise and thank you for reading come find me on my tungle dot hell @[brotayuri](http://brotayuri.tumblr.com). thanks for accepting my weird au's. as of now this is the FINAL part for dentist au, thank you for coming on a journey with me. i may decide to re-open my dentist world in the future, but i don't have any plans for it after this. now i move onto other projects.  
> [[note: desktop hover for translations, mobile translations in end notes]]  
> edit: oh to make this clear this takes place 4 years after the first part. victor and yuuri are...in a weird transition where they both own apartments but they spend most of their time at victor's apartment. yuri is in his second year playing the team and will likely break the record for most on-ice penalties.

* * *

 

Phichit beats Yuuri’s door down during their lunch break. They’re going to need another talk about personal boundaries. Yuuri watches his entire life flash before his eyes: it’s mostly moments of blurry panic, anxiety naps, constant terror, and a lot of useless facts about dental hygiene.

The door flies open and punches another hole in the same patch of drywall, because the door handle swings only at a ninety degree angle. Yuuri freezes in place, and prays whoever is responsible feels bad enough for breaking his door (again) will leave him alone. This isn’t the first time, nor the last time, somebody kicks it down and blasts another hole in his wall. Last time, it had been Yurio. Yuuri is behind his desk using the mirror on his wall. He sees Phichit’s reflection behind him and winces.

“Oh my _GOD_ ,” Phichit yells, loud enough for everyone in the city of Detroit to hear. “You’re a nervous flosser. I _knew_ it.”

Yuuri stares at him through the reflection, still flossing. “I am not,” he lies.

Phichit stomps over to the mirror and tries to grab the floss from Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri raises it over his head and keeps it out of reach. “Is this why you vanish into your office for an hour sometimes? I thought you were like, I don’t know, sending dick pics to your boyfriend or whatever.”

Yuuri squawks, “I do _not_ send dick pics to -- ”

“I mean, if you did, no judgement.” Phichit shrugs, like this does not concern him. Yuuri is going to have an aneurysm.

“ _I_ don’t _send --_ ”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Phichit stresses. “The point is, you’re a nervous flosser, and you lied to me. What are you freaking out about?”

“I’m not freaking out,” Yuuri says, in a tone that sounds a lot like a person freaking out.

Phichit rips the spool of floss out of his hands and waves it in front of his face. “As a hygienist, I appreciate your dedication, but you are _lying_ to me.”

“ _Phfhbffufhuhhwha_ ,” Yuuri sputters.

“Good try, but that wasn’t anywhere close to actual words,” Phichit says, and Yuuri puts his head in his hands. “And your flossing technique is so _amateur_ , I taught you better than this.”

If nothing else to spare his dignity and to prevent Phichit from calling the SWAT team when he forgets to respond to a text later in the evening, Yuuri should appease him with the following scripted responses:

_Don’t worry about it, I’m fine._

_None of your business, butt out._

_I’m going to puke, shit, or cry, or all of the above, and I really need a hug._

What comes out, because his brain decides to bypass _all logical decision-making_ , is:

“I’m going to propose to Victor.”

The resulting scream of excitement startles Minami in the reception area, who drops an entire drawer of files on his foot, and swears in creative, PG-rated profanities. Dr. Cialdini pokes his head out of his office at the noise, shrugs, and returns to his work.

Phichit jumps up and down and wraps himself around Yuuri, babbling gibberish roughly translated into excitement and congratulations.

“What are you congratulating me for,” Yuuri asks him, still frantically trying to process what he’s done and he just _told Phichit he’s proposing to Victor_.

“My best friend is getting _married!_ ” Phichit shrieks. Yuuri claps a hand over Phichit’s mouth, because if he screams any louder he’s going to alert all of the entire state Michigan. Maybe the entire country. Maybe the astronauts in the space station, will too, hear his excited cries of joy.

“I haven’t proposed yet! I don’t know if he’ll even say yes,” Yuuri reminds him, because sometimes he feels like he’s the only voice of reason in this entire building. They’re dentists. Yuuri knows this kind of drama _does not exist_ in a _normal_ dentist office. He really wants to quit and move back to Japan, and hopefully the drama won’t follow him there.

Phichit stops jumping. He grabs Yuuri by the shoulders and looks him square in the eye. Yuuri decides from now on he’s taking his lunch breaks in the bathroom where he can floss in peace.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he says seriously. “There is literally _no_ scenario possible for that to happen _._ You’ll make it three words into the proposal and he’ll say yes and start crying. I’m going to demand Yurio takes video of all of it, because I want Victor’s ugly crying taped for posterity. And I want to have a record of it for all eternity to share your beautiful love with the world.”

“He’s not an ugly crier,” Yuuri protests. “Also, I’m more likely to start crying before he does.”

“Ten bucks,” Phichit says, which is a dangerous thing. He and Phichit made bets all the time in dentistry school. _Five bucks says I befriend that pigeon with my beautiful innate charm_ , Phichit had told him. _Five bucks says it attacks you because pigeons are cursed spawn of the devil_ , Yuuri had countered. On that fortuitous occasion, Yuuri had made five whole dollars.

Even so...making a bet with Phichit is a very bad idea. Yuuri has lost a lot of bets. (Phichit has also lost a lot of bets.) He doesn’t even know who’s won the most bets; or who was left financially better or worse from their betting days. Or if they collectively lost so often they came out even.

Yuuri glares at him with as much disappointment and resentment he can muster. Phichit grins.

As they leave work, Yuuri reads aloud some of the funny texts Victor sent during the day (avoiding quite a few that Yuuri would rather die than read aloud) as per tradition. Halfway to his car, Phichit spins and points a finger at him. “I better be the best man, since I’m your best friend.”

“ _Phichit_ ,” Yuuri protests. “I haven’t _proposed yet_.”

“Best man or bust,” Phichit repeats, ignoring him.

Yuuri shakes his head. He knows Phichit means well as his best friend, but there are times (like now) when Yuuri wants to crawl under a rock and never leave. “There’s not even a date for the wedding. I haven’t even picked out his ring!”

“I’m preparing my speech already,” Phichit continues, as if Yuuri’s not in the room. “I’m going to share all your embarrassing college stories and the story of how you guys met, and that time Victor got his wisdom teeth removed and confessed his burning gay love to you while high as a kite, then showed up with a sign and flowers, cliché rom-com style. It’s going to be _amazing_.”

* * *

**To Vitya:**

Did you pick Yuri up from practice?

**From Vitya:**

no was i supposed to

**To Vitya:**

Serious frowning emoji

**From Vitya:**

y did you type that out

**To Vitya:**

Yurio hacked my phone and deleted all my emojis

**To Vitya:**

The only emoji I have left is the cactus one

**From Vitya:**

crying laughing emoji crying laughing emoji one hundred emoji fire emoji

**To Vitya:**

frowny face

**> >>>View older conversations>>>>**

**To Yurio:**

Victor forgot again sorry

**From Yurio:**

im going to kill him.

**To Yurio:**

Don’t do that! He’s having a bad day. I’ll pick you up on my way home.

**To Yurio:**

Yurio?

**To Yurio:**

I don’t want to leave you at the rink but you better answer me

**To Yurio:**

Please tell me you didn’t actually kill victor

**From Yurio:**

i got a ride home from mila

**From Yurio:**

ur car sucks and i never want to be seen in it

**To Yurio:**

thanks for letting me know, be safe!!!

**From Yurio:**

STOP

* * *

It’s five in the afternoon and absolutely nothing is amazing about Victor’s day. The shoot he’s in is facing technical issues, which means he’s in the required dress for the concept shoot, hair and makeup is done, and he’s sitting around doing _nothing_. He’s ready to jump out of his chair, strap rockets to his feet, and shoot through the ceiling. He plays with the rubber ball on the set and drops it when the designer’s PA yells at him to stop ruining props.

“Don’t worry, _mon chéri_ ,” Chris says, lounging on the beach chair they’re supposed to be using as a prop. The creative design director explicitly told them _not to touch anything_ on the set because “ _everything is fragile_ ” and “ _they don’t have replacements_.” Victor eyes the wobbling leg of Chris’ chair and mentally catalogues the possible reactions for when it inevitably breaks and Chris falls on his ass. After running several thorough fantasy scenarios, he decides leaving Chris to do his own thing and laugh at the catastrophe is the best and most entertaining option.

Chris does fall on his ass, and the sneaky reaction images Victor captures are worth the lecture he receives from Lilia.

“I told you not to touch the props!” Her hair is full of fly-aways today. For the few years Victor lived with Lilia, she wouldn’t dare leave the house with her hair anything less than impeccable. The only time he truly saw her in disarray was the tumultuous divorce suit that resolved basically nothing and sealed the final nail in the coffin of Lilia and Yakov’s marriage. Victor was fourteen. He fought so hard to keep them together, because it felt like the family he had -- Yakov and Lilia, in this case -- were falling apart around him. Yakov took him aside and explained -- _gently_ , a word never associated with Yakov -- that sometimes marriages don’t work out.

“I don’t understand,” Victor asked him then.

“You’re young,” Yakov told him. “You will grow up and break your own heart, and then maybe you will understand.”

“Of course, Lilia,” Victor says, feeling properly chastised. And not the slightest bit guilty. Lilia huffs and turns back to the photographer and the set directors.

“Does my ass look big in these shorts?” Chris asks, twirling in front of the mirror. Victor blinks and deliberately stares at something that is pointedly _not_ Chris’ ass. He doesn’t remember leaving the set, or even walking out of the shoot. He turns to the side. The set is swarmed with attendants and movers, adjusting final placements. The models and designers are standing in a circle, watching. Victor doesn’t know where Chris got the mirror, but it’s Chris. He probably flirted his way into convincing one of the PA’s to grab him one. “The swim trunks are rather tight.”

“Your ass looks great,” Victor says, deadpan.

Chris slaps his own rear and winks at his reflection. Victor, who spent most of his early modeling years alongside Chris, is unphased by this action. The photographer behind him squeaks. Victor spots one of the PA’s and waves them over, and asks for a bottle of water. This PA is a shy college girl with bubblegum pink hair, and she usually assists Lilia with clothing-mishaps. She blushes all the way up to her ears when Victor thanks her. She is an intern; she definitely isn’t paid enough to deal with attractive male models. Or maybe she’s paid _too_ much.

“Victor!” Lilia shouts in Russian, from behind the camera. “Do not flirt with my assistants!”

“I’m not, Lilia.” Victor shouts back, in English. “I have a beautiful, gentle, caring, intelligent _boyfriend_ whom I love _dearly_ and I am insulted you think, I, Victor Yakovlevich, would dare such an outrageous --”

Lilia practically teleports behind him and whacks him on the back of the head with a roll of magazines. “Scene. _Now_.” She barks.

Chris turns from the mirror and shuffles back to the beach set. “Yes, madam,” Chris lowers his gaze like a shameful dog that peed on the floor and knows they aren’t getting a treat after dinner. Victor revels in moments like these. Chris is terrified of Lilia, although he vehemently denies it. He claims he’s being respectful to a woman in her position of power.

“You’re afraid she’s going to tear you limb from limb and feed you to her cats,” Victor informed him, somewhere along their tour in Paris during a big shoot.

“I fear _no_ such thing, especially not Lilia,” Chris said. “I am a _god_. No mere mortal could kill me.”

“Lilia is no mere mortal,” Victor said, and delicately sipped his wine.

Lilia drills them with poses and lighting and expression. She is relentless. In many ways, she reminds Victor of Yakov, drilling hockey players with scoring and legwork and whatever else hockey players do. Although Victor spent most of his life growing up with Yakov, he never followed Yakov to the ice rink. Instead he dropped out of university and showed up at Lilia’s apartment in Moscow on a whim and begged to join her agency. She accepted, but she made him work for it. Just because she was legally his guardian for seven years didn’t mean they were family. And she made it clear she would offer no favors or leniency. (She did, because Victor ended up in her apartment on more than one occasion, drunk off his ass, or on the verge of a mental breakdown and she’d tuck him in and whisper “ _My child, my foolish child_ ,” as she passed.)

He wonders, even now, if he let Yakov down by not following in his footsteps. He wonders if Yakov is disappointed. He wonders if he asked, if Yakov would tell him, or if he would placate him with tiny lies.

Yakov only took him to the rink once, and Victor hated the cold. He hated the feeling of falling on the ice, and inhaling the cold air made the cold feeling inside of him grow stronger. There was already ice inside of him; he did not need to surround himself with more ice.

At least Yakov has Yuri to fulfill his hockey legacy.

* * *

Yuri slams into the left side of the rink with a jarring clatter. His stick makes a dull cracking noise as it snaps, and the bottom half flies off and slides across the ice several feet away. There’s a long pause. Yuri can practically hear Yakov’s deep inhale from across the rink and prepares for the verbal assault that is sure to follow.

“ _Yuri Viktorovich!_ ” Yakov screams.

JJ skates by him on the left and whispers, “Daddy’s calling.” Yuri halfheartedly tries to stab him with his broken stick. JJ shrieks and trips backwards. Yuri spins around and skates to the box, hiding his smirk. Yakov is waiting at the door with a murderous expression.

“That is the third stick this _week_ ,” Yakov growls. “One more and I’m taking it out of your salary.”

“I don’t have a salary,” Yuri says. “Besides, I kind of like my new one.”

“It’s broken! In _half!_ ” Yakov punctuates the sentence by shoving his cap on. Yuri wonders if he’s pulled out the last of his hair. Victor’s started doing the same to his own hair whenever Yuri does something particularly dangerous or offensive. Yuri hopes he goes bald like Yakov. Then the bathroom won’t be filled with eighty thousand different types of organic, gluten-free shampoo.

“Better to stab JJ with,” Yuri counters. “I’m seeing a lot of good uses to come from this.”

“And how will you move the puck?” Yakov asks. He looks like he needs a drink. Yuri wonders what his blood pressure is today. It’s probably hovering around hypertension levels.

“I’ll kick it,” Yuri says. “Like that football game. _Soccer_.”

“THAT’S ILLEGAL IN GAMES.” Yakov stomps his feet on the ground to emphasize this order. Yuri tries not to picture a shrieking, red-faced toddler in place of Yakov, but now that the connection is made, it’s irreversible. “YOU _CANNOT_ KICK THE PUCK.”

Yuri looks back to the rink. JJ is flexing and surrounded by a gaggle of fans and teammates. It’s a shame because they’re clearly a) _blind because looking at him makes babies cry_ , b) _deaf because they can somehow block out JJ’s… everything,_ or c) _have bad taste in men_. “You’re right,” Yuri agrees. “But there’s no rule that says I can’t kick JJ in the face.”

“ON ICE VIOLENCE IS AGAINST _REGULATION YOU UPSTART_ \-- _”_

Yuri spots Mila and Otabek lounging near the back of the bleachers. He rips his skate guards out of Yakov’s hands and slaps them on. “My ride’s here, bye!”

“ _YURI VIKTOROVICH PLISETSKY, DO NOT WALK AWAY FROM ME._ ”

“See you later, Yakov!” Yuri yells back.

As he exits the rink, Mila speeds up to walk beside him and comments, “You sound like Victor now, he says the same thing when Yakov is mad.” Mila used to date one of Yakov’s hockey students, so she’d hung out around Yakov’s house a lot, and by extension, with Victor. Yuri can’t remember the hockey player’s name, but he remembers she was a very tall, dark-haired woman who wore a permanent scowl. “You’re becoming more and more like your father every day. It’s so sweet.” Yuri crosses his leg from behind to trip her.

Otabek takes out his phone and starts recording something for his Snapchat story. Yuri pulls his hoodie up and Mila tackles him from behind into a hug, squealing with laughter. (Later, Yuri sees what Otabek recorded on his feed and watches it in all of it’s sparkly-filter glory with the caption, “ _Hanging with @y-plisetsky >:3c & @mlbabicheva! _He texts Otabek _, “ _delete that within the next 40 seconds and I may not decide to kill you_ ” _to which Otabek responds _“ _2 bad :)”__ because he’s an ass.)

Yuri shoves Mila off and keeps walking. “Quit it, you old sack of bones. I know where you live. And when you least expect it, I will climb into your bedroom window, and I will hold a pillow over your face until the kicking stops.”

“That’s…dark,” Otabek says.

“You wouldn’t do that, little Yura,” Mila says. “I know you love me.”

“Not even a little bit,” Yuri replies, with just enough scathing to be insulting.

“He thinks he’s so cute,” Mila whispers to Otabek. “He’s going to turn into a softie like Yakov, you’ll see.”

“Uh-huh,” Otabek says, disbelieving.

“You’ll see,” she repeats ominously. Mila catches the bag Yuri tosses at her, and he throws himself into Mila’s car. Mila does two donuts in the parking lot, does a burnout from the rink lot, and slams on the gas when they hit the highway. Yuri is sure he almost dies no less than four times. He forces Mila to pull over and tells Otabek to drive the rest of the way home.

Turns out, Otabek is even worse at driving.

From now on, he’s getting a ride home with Yuuri.

Yuuri drives a ( _gag_ ) black prius. Yuri hates that car more than anything else, but he doesn’t hate _himself_ enough to flirt with death when Mila or Otabek drive. Yuuri drives like a grandma: he doesn’t pass the speed limit, keeps both hands on the wheel, and never raises the volume of the radio.

Even worse, he sings along with the radio. It’s not that his voice is bad. It’s not bad at all. It’s actually okay. But Yuri would rather stab his own eyes with a spoon, tear them out, and skip rope with the stalks than admit to that.

* * *

Victor falls asleep halfway through an episode of _Just Making It_ and wakes up when a warm weight presses against his side. He blearily opens his eyes and makes out a fuzzy image of Yuuri.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Yuuri says, smiling. Victor realizes, holy shit, he’s totally in love with that clean, straight, beautiful smile. He’s also totally in love with the person the smile belongs to. He’s absolutely, totally, completely in love with Yuuri.

“Hey,” Victor mumbles. “What time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Yuuri says. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Victor replies. His heart could burst. He feels like he could climb Mount Everest and jump off the top of it. He could fight a giant, or a god. He’s gonna rule the fucking world. Yuuri leans down to kiss him. Victor puckers his lips to return the kiss and is greeted by a wet, slobbery tongue. He blinks.

Yuuri is not leaning over him. Makkachin is gleefully snorting and drooling all over Victor’s face. Yurio is hovering a few feet away with his phone out and ( _not looking the slightest bit guilty_ ) recording the whole scene.

“Wha-w _hah_?” Victor almost slides off the couch in a frantic scramble to reorient himself and his place in the world. “Where’s Yuuri?” Makkachin clambers over his body and traps Victor into the couch with his weight so Victor can’t snatch Yurio’s phone out of his hands.

“I didn’t know you and Makkachin were like that,” Yurio cackles, with an expression of devilish glee. “Katsudon is going to be _heartbroken_ you left him for a _dog_.”

“I would do no such thing,” Victor says. He struggles to push Makkachin off him. “Yurio, _help_ me.”

“Nope,” Yurio says, because he is an evil gremlin child and Victor is never buying him anything ever again.

“Delete that,” Victor orders, in his best _I’m Your Father And You Better Listen To Me_ voice that Yakov used on him in almost every scenario.

It seems Victor has inherited Yakov’s bad luck with disobedient children. Somewhere else in the world, Yakov is sitting on his couch, toasting a full glass of vodka to Victor’s misery. Yakov would tell him he deserves it, especially after everything Victor put him through. “Already sent it to Katsudon,” Yurio replies, swinging up the stairs. “I’m keeping it forever!”

“Such a naughty boy,” Victor confides sadly to Makkachin. Makkachin licks his chops and rubs his head against Victor’s hand, wagging his tail. Victor pets him, and Makkachin sighs in contentment. “At least one of my boys listens to me. Who’s a well-behaved boy? Is it you? Yes, it’s you.”

Makkachin huffs in agreement.

* * *

Yuuri’s phone is ringing in his office. Nobody has the number to that line except three people. Yuuri knows who it is before he even looks at the caller ID.

“You didn’t pick up your cell phone,” Victor explains when he picks up. “Yuuri, how else am I supposed to tell you I love you?”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Yuuri says. “I know already.”

Victor coos. Yuuri smiles, even though he knows Victor can’t possibly see him. In the background, somebody retches. “Is Yurio there?” Yuuri asks, although the answer is pretty obvious. Nobody else would gag upon hearing affectionate conversation.

“Yes,” Victor chimes. “I remembered to pick him up today!”

“Good,” Yuuri says. “One of these days he might actually follow through with his threats.”

“No, not _my Yuratchka_ ,” Victor declares. He continues the sentence in Russian, a teasing lilt to his voice. Yuuri doesn’t understand a word of it, but he gets the gist. He can’t stifle a laugh when he years Yuri yell “ _FUCK YOURSELF!_ ” in the background.

“Tell Yurio to behave himself,” Yuuri orders him in a (not at all) serious tone.

“I will,” Victor says. “Oh, I’m gonna miss you so _much_. I wish I could skip my tour in Seville this year, but Lilia insisted, so you’ll have to pick up Yurio for -- hey, do you want to go to New York?”

There’s a short pause as Yuuri scrambles to catch up to the conversation shift. “Uhhh,” Yuuri says. “What?”

“New York,” Victor repeats. “I have a show there in a month or so. I have a seat for you, and I already booked tickets, but I can cancel and -- I’m sorry, I’m being impulsive again, I should have asked --”

“No, no, no,” Yuuri says. “Shhh. Let me think.” Victor takes the hint and for a moment all Yuuri can hear is the sound of his breathing. “ _Okay_. New York. Next month?”

“Yes,” Victor says. “It’s a show. Lilia wants to meet you. And you get to sit in the front row.”

“I’ll ask Ciao Ciao,” Yuuri says. “And --”

“Yes! Amazing!”

“-- _if_ he approves it, we can go. How long is the show?”

“Four days,” Victor replies, almost interrupting him before he’s finished asking. “ _But_ I’m taking us on a two day trip after. I want to show you something.”

“Ah,” Yuuri says, apprehension creeping into his voice. “What kind of something?”

“It’s a surprise!” Victor sounds, perhaps, a little more excited than usual, which is good, but also very alarming. “Super secret. Make sure you pack bug spray.” There’s a crash on the other end of the line. “ _Yuri_!” Victor fumbles with the phone for a second. Yuuri tries to figure out if he’s yelling at Yuuri or Yurio. It could be either. “Oh, whoops. Call you later. Love you!”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Yuuri bites his lip to catch himself from smiling again. If he’s smiling too much, Phichit will make _Suggestions_ as to how Yuuri spent his lunch break. “Love you too.”

“ _Yuuri!_ ” Victor croons. There’s a rustle on the other end of the line.

“ _KILL ME ALREADY_ ,” Yurio screams into the receiver. Yuuri rips the phone away from his ear. There’s a click, marking the end of the call. Yuuri shakes his head, filled with something a little like amusement, a little like exasperation, and a little bit of love.

Celestino is thrilled Yuuri is taking a vacation. “It’s about time,” he says. “Take as long as you want. _Please_.”

“Yuuri? On vacation?” Phichit exclaims when he sees the new schedule for next month. “Did you hit your head again?”

Yuuri is a little overwhelmed, and flees to his office to reduce his anxiety by flossing. He opens his desk drawer to find that all his floss is gone, replaced with a sticky note that says, “ _Betcha can’t go a week without bad flossing techniques :)_ ” and signed “ _Pbit_ ” because Phichit is a terrible friend. To be fair, Yuuri’s gums are bleeding when he brushes from too much flossing, but Phichit doesn’t need to know that.

Yuuri sighs and opens up his email, and methodically sorts through spam and company mail to occupy his time instead.

“Yuuri, your four o’clock is here,” Phichit says as he swings the door open. By some miracle, he catches the door before it blasts another hole in Yuuri’s office. “I’ll send him in.”

“Phichit,” Yuuri puts his hands over his mouth and muffles his voice to hide his dismay. “ _I don’t have a four o’clock_.”

“You do now,” Phichit says. A man in a dark coat hovers at the edge of the doorway and peers in. It’s Yakov.

“ _Oh_ ,” Yuuri says.

“You said we wish to talk,” Yakov says, in lieu of an explanation. Phichit dissipates into the background like smoke, clearly not wanting to be part of the conversation. “We talk now, good?”

“Uh…” Yuuri says. He shakes his head to clear the questions bubbling up, such as why Yakov, of all people, would show up here on a _weekday_ , at _four in the afternoon_ , wanting to _talk_. “That wasn’t quite what I… _nevermind_. Sure. Have a seat.”

About a month ago, he had told Yakov, “ _Hey, let’s chat some time, over like, dinner or something, get to know each other._ ” It wasn’t meant to be a _let me ask for your son’s hand in marriage kind of thing_ but Yuuri figures the cat’s ( _sort of_ ) already out of the bag, so now is as good a time as ever.

While Yuuri psyches himself up to give the _please let me marry your son_ speech, Yakov spins his cap around and takes several deep breathes. He looks like he’d rather leave. Yuuri also wants to leave.

“We talk now, yes,” Yakov says, in stilted, awkward English. As another non-native English speaker, Yuuri can sympathize. “Talk about?”

“It’s about...Victor,” Yuuri says slowly, partly because he’s not quite sure where he’s going with this conversation, and partly because he knows talking more slowly will make him easier to understand.

“I assumed.” Yakov raises a brow, unimpressed. This is already not going well.

“I don’t know how they do this in Russia,” Yuuri flexes the muscles in his hands and forces himself to look Yakov in the eye. He’s an adult. He can do this. “I’m going to ask Victor to marry me. And I’d appreciate your… support.”

“ _Vitya_ ,” Yakov corrects. “He asked you to call him this, yes?” His accent is so heavy it takes Yuuri a second to filter out the English, figure out what it’s supposed to mean, and then the right English words to respond to such a statement.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says.

Yakov shakes his head, like it’s not all _yeah_. “He is not Victor now. Always Vitya.”

The expression on his face must be comically confused, because Yakov sighs. He places a firm hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri freezes up without meaning to.

“He has asked you to call him Vitya,” Yakov says. “It means… affection. You are very dear to him. You mean much.”

“He asked me to call him Vitenka the other night,” Yuuri blurts out. He should _really_ get a safety seal for his mouth. “I’m still...unsure, uh, what that means.”

Yakov’s eyebrows raise a little more. “It is endearment for...lovers, very, very close,” he says, carefully. “Use rare. Not always. When you mean it.”

“Ah,” Yuuri says, like he gets what that means. (He doesn’t. He’ll ask Yurio later and Yurio will threaten him with all of Yuuri’s silverware and then begrudgingly explain; and then challenge Yuuri to a game of Mario Kart to reclaim his dignity. Yuuri knows how this works.)

* * *

**To Victor:**

I may have told you this already but your father is…

very terrifying

**From Victor:**

yu are also very terrifying

**To Victor:**

thank you

?

i think

**From Victor:**

the other night you told me when you’re operating all it takes is a slight miscalculation and you could sever someone’s artery and kill them

**To Victor:**

that’s not entirely true

well.

i suppose

...

anything is possible

**From Victor:**

see? what you just did ?

terrifying

**To Victor:**

okay lol

**From Victor:**

a terrifying dragon

**To Victor:**

????? haha

**From Victor:**

a handsome, beautiful, intelligent, scary dragon

**To Victor:**

ty <3

what time is it there for you?

VICTOR

**From Victor:**

:)

**To Victor:**

GO TO SLEEP

**From Victor:**

I can’t sleep :(

**To Victor:**

oh no what’s wrong

**From Victor:**

I just

You’re not next to me

The bed is cold

Makka isnt here

I don’t want to be alone

**To Victor:**

can i call you?

**From Victor:**

no

not rn

no talking

**To Victor:**

texting is ok though ?

**From Victor:**

y

**To Victor:**

ill send you pics of me n makka will that help?

**From Victor:**

what kind of pics ;)

**To Victor:**

no.

don’t change the subject

**From Victor:**

I just need

To know you’re still there

**To Victor:**

i’m still here. love you. get some sleep.

* * *

“Yuri,” Katsuki calls from the other room. He pushes Yuri’s door open cautiously, like he’s afraid a beast lies beyond the door, ready to devour him. Yuri’s going to print out a sign that says _NO OLD MEN ALLOWED_ and post it on his door, and he’s getting a lock and chain and a deadbolt. His room is sacred territory, and Yuuri knows better. He’s about to snap a nasty response when Yuuri elaborates. “Let’s go to the rink.”

“Fine,” Yuri spits, and he dresses and leaves as quickly as possible. He’s tired of solving the pythagorean theorem for his History of Math 101 course and the rink sounds much better. He doesn’t know why he took Yuuri’s advice to go to college. “You need a plan after hockey,” Yuuri’s told him. “You can’t play hockey forever.” Yuri wasn’t going to, but Yuuri signed him up for two courses this semester and threatened to cancel his X-Box Live subscription.

Yuuri is clearly distracted on the ice. Yuri skates without his stick and rents a pair of figure skates to practice some jumps. He may play hockey, but he used to copy the figure skaters that came to practice at the rink. Yakov refused to talk to him for two weeks when he found out. Now he pretends he doesn’t see it. And Yakov isn’t here.

After Yuuri stumbles for the fourth time in a row on something as simple as a crossover, Yuri drags him off the ice and orders him to pull his head out of his ass.

“It’s...nothing,” Yuuri protests. Yuri raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Yuuri sighs, and pats the seat next to him. Yuri rolls his eyes and drops onto the bench. Yuuri reaches down and un-ties his laces, and re-ties them. Yuri wonders if it would be rude to take out his phone and ask Otabek to come rescue him. But Otabek’s probably on a date with Mila, and he doesn’t want a noogie from her.

Yuuri abruptly tears off a skate guard and flips it over in his hand. Yuri watches him, and bites his tongue. The scathing _what’s wrong with you, moron_ dies as soon as it appears.

“I’m going to propose to Victor,” Yuuri says, in a hushed voice. He’s staring down at the skate guard in his hand like it holds all the answers and secrets to the universe.

Yuri stares at him.

“I’m going to propose to him,” Yuuri repeats, a little more confidently. He looks up and snaps his gaze to Yuri’s face. “I just...wanted you to know. So it’s not a surprise to you. You’re Victor’s family. You’re _my_ family. I don’t want you to feel like you’re left out of this. I don’t want to leave _you_ out of this.”

Yuri recovers fairly quickly, and seethes, “ _Please do_. I don’t want anything to do with either of you. You’re both gross and in love and I hate you.”

This statement doesn’t appear to appease Yuuri, who looks even closer to tears than he usually is, and generally he looks like he’s two seconds away from a mental breakdown. _Fuck. Shit._ Yuri is not equipped to deal with this kind of bullshit. _Shitfuck._

Yuri sighs, mentally prepares himself for what he’s about to do, and grumbles, “You tell Victor about this and they’ll never find your body,” and pulls Yuuri in for a hug before he can change his mind.

Yuuri freezes, and before he fully relaxes Yuri releases him. “You better do something gross and public and write a thirty minute speech on reasons why you love him or I’m crashing your wedding and eating all the cake,” he threatens. He glares at the wall behind Yuuri because looking at Yuuri directly usually starts the waterworks.

Yuuri does burst into tears anyway, because that’s what he does, but thankfully not the sad kind. Yuri should’ve expected this. Yuuri always cries because he’s an emotional wreck. He tries to hug Yuri again, and Yuri shrieks and runs back to the ice to escape.

* * *

Not Yuuri’s finest hour, but after crying his heart out to Yurio at the rink, Yuuri’s head is all kinds of Not Great. So here he is, in all his glory, eating an entire container of Rocky Road in the kitchen.

Victor fell asleep almost immediately because he had to catch up on from jetlag, and Yuuri lay awake in bed for an hour before slipping out and going downstairs. Here’s the thing: unlike Victor, Yuuri doesn’t stop eating when he’s feeling terrible. He eats until his stomach explodes. He eats until he’s sick. And that’s why he’s sitting on the kitchen floor, mechanically forcing another spoonful of chocolate ice cream down his throat.

Rocky Road is Yurio’s favorite ice cream. Yuuri bought it for him last week because Yurio asked him to add it to the list. Yurio is sleeping at his apartment tonight because he’s slowly transitioning to living on his own, so it’s not like Yurio could stop him. Yuuri feels bad about stealing his ice cream though. And it tastes like chocolate vomit. It’s sweet and tacky and sticky and he hates the thought of even trying to do a calorie calculator for this. He doesn’t even like ice cream. He’s halfway through the container, and his stomach feels chunky and gross and heavy. Yuuri imagines this is what it would feel like to swallow a bunch of stones.

He hears the creak of the stairs and the light patter of footsteps. Makkachin has probably woken up. Yuuri hopes so.

The kitchen light flips on. It’s not Makkachin. Yuuri turns and meets Victor’s sleepy expression with his own guilty ‘ _caught-in-the-act_ ’ expression.

“Good evening,” Victor rubs his eyes, and yawns around the words. “Or good morning? I’m not quite sure.”

“I can explain,” Yuuri blurts out. He stabs the spoon into the half-melted ice cream, and begs, “Don’t tell Yurio.”

Victor takes in Yuuri’s half-devoured carton of ice cream, and Yuuri is unsure what the placidly neutral look on Victor’s face is supposed to mean. Yuuri knows there’s an ice cream smear on his cheek. He can feel the tacky, sticky cream pulling at his skin. Instead of saying anything, Victor sits down next to Yuuri and gestures for the spoon. Yuuri reluctantly hands it to him. Victor makes a disgusted expression before digging in and shoving a giant glob of Rocky Road in his mouth.

“Eh habe Wacky Norm,” Victor informs Yuuri.

“What?” Yuuri says.

Victor swallows, and throws a hand up. “I hate Rocky Road. Yurio has bad taste.”

“He wears leopard print with almost every outfit,” Yuuri adds, as though this magically explains everything wrong about that kid.

Victor hums in agreement, then winces. “Brain freeze,” he whines, dropping his head in Yuuri’s lap. “That’s enough for me.”

“I’m probably going to finish it anyway,” Yuuri sighs. “Do you think if I buy a new one, Yuri will notice?”

“Probably not,” Victor says. “Do I want to know why you’re eating Yurio’s ice cream in the middle of the night?”

“It’s not the middle of the night,” Yuuri corrects. “It’s like three in the morning. And because I’m stressed.”

“Mhm,” Victor hums. His eyes flutter closed, and Yuuri rubs a sticky ice cream hand through Victor’s hair. Victor has to shower in the morning anyway. “About what?”

Yuuri shoves another spoon of ice cream in his mouth in response. “Can’t tell you yet,” he says around the spoon. “Sorry.”

“Muh-hum,” Victor smacks his lips together. “Your lap is comfy. I’m tired.”

“It’s okay. You can sleep here.” Yuuri pats the top of his head. Victor closes his eyes and does so.

Yuuri must fall asleep after finishing the ice cream because he wakes up the next morning on the couch without any idea how he got there. There’s a new container of Rocky Road in the freezer.

Like nothing ever happened at all.

Victor is gone, probably left to catch an early flight to Madrid or L.A. or wherever his show is this week. Yuuri used to keep track of his schedule with a highlighter and a notebook, cataloging every moment they were away from each other, but now he Skypes with Victor so often while he’s away he loses track.

Yuri shows up around noon to steal their food and borrow Yuuri’s PS4. Yuuri doesn’t know what game Yuri owns on the PS4 that he doesn’t already have on his X-Box, but he’s afraid to ask. As aggressive as Yuri is on a normal day, video games make him more aggressive than usual.

Yuuri decides to scroll through Twitter and read up on the show in New York. He gulps when he spots a bunch of A-List celebrities on the attendee list. Yuuri is not an A-list celebrity. Sometimes he forgets how famous Victor is. Yuuri is a dentist. These two worlds do not often interact.

The television makes sad _GAME OVER_ music as Yuri dies, again, in whatever game he’s playing. Yuri grunts and swears under his breath. He moves like he’s going to throw his controller at the ground. “Hey,” Yuuri cautions, grabbing his arm before he can break another one of his controllers. “Break your own console. That’s mine.”

Yuri shoves him away, but he doesn’t chuck it at the screen, so at least there’s that. Yuuri turns back to his phone and lets out a weary sigh.

“You should propose with a tooth instead of a diamond on it,” Yuri suggests out of the blue, and sighs when the game character on his screen falls off and dies again. He’s stuck on level 86, and his death count is in the low thousands. Not that Yuuri’s keeping track. “It's romantic.”

“That might be one of the most repulsive ideas you've ever shared,” Yuuri tells him without looking up from his phone.

“Have you picked it out yet?” Yurio asks. “The ring, I mean.”

“I’ve got some idea,” Yuuri says. Simple. Gold. Traditional. Really, anything would look good on Victor. Besides, Yuuri doesn’t have the salary for any of those designer rings. He feels a heavy weight settle in his chest. He’ll never be able to afford a nice ring like the ones in Victor’s magazines. He knows, deep down, any ring he buys Victor will love and cherish, but he still feels bad.

“You could propose to him with a ring you got from McDonalds,” Yurio says, and Yuuri is alarmed but grateful for his sudden experience in empathy or telepathy, whichever he’s accomplished. “And I guarantee you he’d still wear it for the rest of his life.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says sincerely. Yuri nods, and that’s usually the most acknowledgement he gives. Yuri’s game character slams into a cave wall and dies. The screen flashes “ _GAME OVER!_ ” and Yuri swears and storms out of the room.

* * *

Yuuri doesn’t always come to Yuri’s games, but when he does, it’s usually a source of endless doom and misery released upon Yuri. Whenever Yuuri comes to his games usually Yuri ends up in the ER. It could be coincidence, but Yuri thinks there might be some truth to this crack theory. Or perhaps Yuuri’s supportive and parental presence is a harbinger of doom.

“You _rat Canadian FUCK_ ,” Yuri yells, through a mouthful of blood. “If you broke my tooth _again_ , I’m gonna _break_ your _ass_.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” JJ says, and despite his Canadian upbringing, Yuri is pretty sure that is the first time JJ ever apologized to anyone.

“If I have the chance, I will actually fucking kill you,” Yuri swears to him. JJ looks legitimately terrified. Good.

Then the world tilts sideways, and Yuri sees the ice zooming in at high speed into his face.

He wakes up in the ER. Yuuri is guiltily standing over him holding a _GET WELL SOON_ balloon. Yuri wants to grab the nearest sharp object he can find and stab it.

“Don’t be mad,” Yuuri starts, which is a terrible way to start any conversation with Yuri. “But I couldn’t get him to leave.”

Scratch that: given the opportunity and a sharp tool, Yuri’s actually going to stab a person and it just so happens that person is _JJ._ Who, at this point, is hovering near the door, looking extremely guilty.

“Showing your filthy mug here, of all places?” Yuri demands. Yuuri’s gaze flickers rapidfire between him and JJ, as though unsure if he’ll need to break up a fight or not. Yuri pulls himself up on the bed so he’s not sinking into the pillow. He looks down and realizes his arm is in a cast.

“You broke my _FUCKING ARM!?_ ”

Yuuri, as best he can, calmly explains he fractured his wrist, while Yuri hurls insults and food trays at JJ.

After Yuri calms down, Yuuri convinces him _NOT_ to kill JJ (no matter how much Yuri would desperately like to smash in that asshole’s face), and flees to find coffee.

There’s an awkward silence in the room in the wake of Yuuri’s absence. Yuri almost wishes Yuuri didn’t leave. JJ blurts out, “It was my bad,” he says, and fuck him, he actually looks bad about it. “Bad sportsmanship. Really. I’m sorry.”

“Take your apology and cram it up your ass,” Yuri spits.

JJ waves an arm. For a second it looks like he’s going to do one of his fucking “ _It’s JJ style_!” cheers and then, broken wrist or not, Yuri will climb out of the hospital bed and _STRANGLE_ him.

“Please, let’s not,” he seems to be at a loss for words. “I just. I really am sorry.”

Yuri settles back into the bed now that the danger has passed. “Okay.”

“I know you hate my guts,” JJ says, and Yuri snorts. That’s an understatement. “But I really am. You’re a good player, Plisetsky.”

Yuri grunts. JJ needs to take the hint and leave.

“I know we’ll never be friends,” JJ says, and God, _he’s still talking?_ “But as rivals, can we agree not to attack each other so viciously? God, when you fell I just --” If JJ starts crying and takes Yuri’s hand and starts singing Kum-ba -ya, that’s it. Yuri’s tapping out.

JJ actually looks pathetic. His hair isn’t gelled, and he’s got a five-o'clock shadow. He looks like shit. Well, he always looks like shit, but slightly shittier than usual.

“Fine.” Yuri grumbles. “ _Prick_.”

JJ looks so relieved. He moves forward and Yuri shrinks back. “If you hug me, we’re done,” Yuri threatens.

“Uh, no, bro,” JJ says. Yuuri re-enters the room. JJ scurries out like the Devil himself has called a manhunt on him.

Yuuri starts yawning around midnight, and Yuri ( _aggressively_ ) suggests he goes home and gets some sleep. It’s not like he cares or anything.

“You’re a good kid, Yuri,” Yuuri says, patting him on the shoulder. “But I’m fine. I’ll call out tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yuuri leaves to call Victor the next morning and explain why Yuri’s in the hospital again, and Yuri is selfishly glad he doesn’t have to make that phone call. While Yuuri’s out, Mila and Otabek stop by to offer their condolences.

“Yeah, whatever,” Yuri huffs. “Season’s almost over anyway.”

“Still sucks,” Otabek offers. Fat lot of good that does Yuri. Otabek can finish the season, and Yuri’s stuck to six weeks of down time and PT.

“Does it hurt?” Mila asks, pointing to the cast.

“A fuckton,” Yuri groans. “God, it’s been such a weird day.”

“You broke your wrist; it’s definitely outside of typical,” Otabek agrees.

“And even JJ apologized to me,” Yuri mutters. “What the fuck is that?”

Otabek coughs uncomfortably. He always turns into a shy little crab whenever Yuri brings up JJ around him. When Yuri is particularly annoyed and ranting about JJ to him, Otabek either conveniently has to go somewhere or there’s a family emergency he must attend to, _immediately_.

“What?” Yuri demands. “Did JJ call you a punk ass bitch or something? Do you two have beef? Dude.”

“You didn’t know?” Mila asks. “JJ and Beka used to date.”

Yuri stares at her.

“What,” he says, after a solid twenty seconds of silence.

Otabek looks even more mildly uncomfortable than before. “ _Date_ is a strong word,” he explains.

“You have terrible taste in men _and_ women,” Yuri informs him, appalled at this change in worldview. The earth is spinning on a different axis. The sky is not blue. JJ and Otabek used to date.

“I think I’m a catch.” Mila interrupts.

“Yes, you are,” Otabek says in Russian.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Yurio says, also in Russian.

“I’m so glad we have formed this multilingual group,” Mila says. “We’re like a language orgy.”

“A blessing,” Otabek says. “That we can communicate so well.”

“A blessing, yes,” Mila agrees, and Yuri isn’t even in the room anymore. He’s not even a fly on the wall. He’s somewhere, drifting in space, wishing he could erase his existence entirely.

“I am blessed,” Otabek says, making gross eye contact with Mila.

Yuri prays to a higher power, wherever they are, to free him from this hospital room.

* * *

Phichit demands Yuuri document every part of his journey to New York with Victor through Snapchat. He’s supposed to be seeing them off and house-sitting while they’re gone, though Phichit is actually there so Yuri is given a proper amount of sunlight, water, and reminders to eat something. And Makkachin. (“I may not return Makkachin,” Phichit threatens. “If you guys are a day late, that’s it. That dog is _mine_.”)

“Why would I need to do that?” Yuuri says. “You’ve been to New York. _Twice_. It hasn’t changed since you last went.”

“It’s always changing,” Phichit says, in a tone belying a different intention. “And I don’t care about _New York!_ You’re taking a vacation, so you need the full vacation experience. That means letting everyone else you know be jealous you’re on vacation.”

“I’ll document our adventures,” Victor volunteers. “I’ve been meaning to re-download Snapchat.” He and Phichit trade Snapchat codes. Phichit ends up showing him the 87 saved memories he has of playing with his hamsters, and somehow works his way into Yuuri’s dorm life and party videos from when they had roomed together. Yuuri looks into the horizon with a patient, and sighs a deep, long-suffering sigh, because Victor and Phichit being in one room together makes for an ADHD fest. He loves them both, but they’re like two cubes of hyperactive sugar synced up to the other and Yuuri can’t keep up with them.

Their flight to New York is short. Victor sleeps through all of it. He’s still recovering from jet lag due to his tour in Spain. Yuuri doesn’t sleep at all, because he hates planes, and he forgot his Xanax so he has white knuckles the whole flight from Detroit to JFK.

* * *

Yuuri meets Chris two hours before the show. Chris is delighted to finally meet the man who stole Victor from the fashion spotlight. Yuuri is seemingly charmed but also filled with trepidation. Victor thinks given it’s Chris, that’s an acceptable reaction.

“He chose the _least_ pretty of Lilia’s male model generation,” Chris mourns to Victor. Victor wonders if he realizes Yuuri is standing right behind him, and therefore can hear the entire conversation. Since it’s Chris who’s talking, it might be on purpose. “I mean, have you see his ass? I could bounce a dime off that. _Several_ dimes, in fact.”

“Yeah,” Victor agrees, looking at the said ass. He really does have a great ass. Yuuri turns around and must know Victor is talking about him, because he smiles and waves shyly at him. The intern he’s entertaining about the importance of flossing looks entranced. Victor can’t blame her. “But I like him for more than his ass.”

“Oh, _mon cœur_.” Chris drapes himself dramatically over Victor’s shoulder. He’s wearing a toga. Victor isn’t really sure what the theme of this show is. Ancient Greece? Gods of old? Gay, buff, half-naked guys draped over one another? It might be all of those. “ _You have found it_ ,” he continues on, in French. “ _The one_. _This Yuuri_. Your little cold heart of glass... I see fire in your eyes I have not seen before, _mon chéri_.”

“Perhaps,” Victor says mildly. There is no perhaps. He knows this is it for him: Yuuri, Yurio, and himself. This is the family he has chosen for himself.

The show goes well: production, lighting, music, all the technicalities are flawless. Victor cares little about those small details. Stalking up the main aisle, stretching out an arm to show off the loose fitting fabric, the excitement and sheer amazement of being alive in that moment are memorable enough.

What Victor really cares about is the open-mouthed, stunned look of sheer adoration Yuuri gives him from the front row. Victor purchased the front seat specifically for him. He hears the clicking of cameras and the flash of lights as he kneels down and extends his arm to Yuuri. Yuuri blushes so easily, but under the bright lights and flashes he looks godly. He looks like he could be on the stage up here with Victor. Victor cups his cheek and steps back. He spins on his heel and flounces back to the end of the aisle, but he blows a kiss to Yuuri before he vanishes out of sight.

“You shunted the timing,” Lilia scolds him as he slumps into his chair, exhausted. A team of makeup professionals pounce on him almost instantly, spraying him with makeup setting spray and hair spray.

“Is it a crime to pay attention to my beautiful, stunning boyfriend?” Victor asks, but his tone must sound a little more nostalgic than he wanted it to be.

Lilia appraises him, toga and all. “You love him,” she says curtly. “He loves you. That is clear. Don’t waste time.” She clicks her pen, signs something on her clipboard, and catches Victor’s eye before she leaves. “I am glad you found someone, Vitya. Hold onto him as long as you can, and never let go.”

Long after Lilia exits his room, Victor remains in his seat, rolling her words over in the back of his mind.

* * *

Victor convinces them to rent an Audi, which is the first mistake. It’s a nice car, but not the best car for the type of off-roading they do once they pass into farm country.

“I want to take you to the lake,” Victor says. Yuuri is pretty sure they’re lost, and Victor’s too stubborn to admit they took a wrong turn forty-five minutes ago.

“Sure,” Yuuri says. It’s hot out. A lake would be nice.

The faded sign among the wheat fields pokes out, half of the letters peeling or long gone. _WELCOME TO CANAJOHARIE._

“What is this place?” Yuuri asks. The coiled snake in his stomach tightens and lurches as they pass a dilapidated farm, and a man in a straw hat out in the field tips his hat as they pass. Yuuri feels like he’s living the beginning of one of those horror films he and Phichit streamed in college. He hopes Victor didn’t bring him here to get murdered by axe killers. Or worse, farmer cultists.

“Yakov had a small plot of land here he rented from the farmers,” Victor explains. The radio is off, there’s no reception out here except country music and static. Yuuri prefers the static. “During the summer, we would drive here and live off the land.”

“Ah,” Yuuri says, like he gets it.

The dirt road is long and windy, so the car bobs and dips and weaves along the fields. Yuuri falls asleep and jolts awake when Victor yells, “Holy cow!”

“Wha-what?” Yuuri, in a blind panic, whips his hand out over Victor’s chest to protect him. Victor’s alarm made it sound like they crashed. Victor could be dead. Victor shifts away and Yuuri looks out the front of the car.

“Ah,” Victor says. “This was not part of what I wanted to show you.”

The road is filled with cows. “We passed a broken fence a while back,” Victor hums thoughtfully. “They must have escaped.”

“And your instinct was to yell _holy cow_ ,” Yuuri’s brain is still asleep. And he’s still processing the fact there’s _just a herd of cows in the road_.

“You’re right! That was unintentional, but when we retell this story to our grandchildren, I’ll pretend it was planned all along.” Victor looks far too pleased with this twist of events.

“Pretend it was planned all along,” Yuuri repeats dully. In a moment of delayed blind panic, he puts his hand in his jacket and feels for the ring. For a second, his fingers don’t touch cool metal, and Yuuri has at least three heart attacks before he remembers he’s locked it in the glove compartment. His heart rate slows.

“You look pale, are you feeling sick?” Victor’s concerned voice pulls him back.

“A little,” Yuuri says truthfully. “I’m looking forward to sleep.”

“Sleep?” Victor lays on his accent extra thick; so thick the words are almost indistinguishable. Yuuri has a feeling he’s imitating Yakov. “ _Sleep_? In _America_? We do not _sleep_. And not in land farmings. We work, work like bulls. Big strong bulls. Work all day and night, no _sleep_.”

Yuuri leans over to peck him on the cheek. “Okay, my _big strong bull_.”

Victor swerves, either because of Yuuri’s tone, or to avoid a pothole. “I take it back, _never_ say that again.” Yuuri laughs.

They spend a day in the run-down shack that Yakov still owns at the corner of the farmer’s property. The electricity doesn’t work, and neither does the water. “We have a pump,” Victor suggests. “It should still work.”

“When you said we were going to be _roughing it,_ ” Yuuri gestures to the giant gaping hole in the roof. “You were certainly...not exaggerating.”

Victor slips his arms around Yuuri’s waist, and Yuuri jumps a foot in the air. “I’m sorry, [cолнышко](/). I know it isn’t a five-star hotel, or even a three-star hotel, but I wanted you to…” He trails off.

Yuuri looks around the cabin. It’s small, and there’s no bed, only the sleeping bags Victor thoughtfully brought along, and their pillows. The cabin smells like mildew and age, and every surface is covered in an inch of dust. _And yet._ There’s something strangely charming about it: he can picture Victor, long-haired and bright-eyed, if the photos Yakov showed him were any indication. He can hear the ghost of Victor’s laugh: a clear, happy sound, like a bell ringing out in the air. Yuuri blinks and turns to face Victor, cups Victor’s face in his hands.

“I wanted you to see it,” Victor whispers. “The place I grew up. Not the _me_ that likes to stay in hotels, and buys fancy shampoo. I forget about this part of me so much, I need you to remind me there’s more to myself than what’s in the magazines.”

Yuuri, unsurprisingly, feels an awful lot like crying. In the forefront of his mind, he pictures it; pulling out the ring, and proposing right here, in this damp, abandoned shack. Unprompted. Totally unplanned. He thinks Victor would say yes.

But as unplanned, as beautiful, as spectacular as it would be -- Victor brought him here for a reason. And he doesn’t want the ring, he doesn’t want any of it, to overshadow this small, quiet moment Victor wishes to share with him.

“Of course,” Yuuri says. “I love it.”

“Do you?” Victor asks, shyly. “Good. I’m glad.”

“I love you,” Yuuri says. “And since you love this place, I love it too.”

* * *

The interview of Victor in _The Montag_ comes out in early October. It’s the first interview Victor ever mentions Yuuri. Later, Yuuri tears out the pages and saves them in one of their photobooks. As far as interviews go, it’s pretty brief. Yuuri cherishes it anyway. It’s proof - a physical affirmation - he’s not living some fantasy dream world where he’s dating a runway model.

_M: You probably get asked this question a lot, but --_

_V: Uh-oh. (Laughs)._

_M: (Laughs.) I promise! Nothing bad, nothing bad, I promise._

_V: Okay then, hit me._

_M: Rumors on the romance front have been - don’t laugh - circulating for quite a while. You’ve been especially quiet the last few years. Anyone catch your eye?_

_V: (Laughs). Well, you could say that._

_M: Truly?_

_V: Let’s just say I’m selfish. I’m keeping him from the world for a little while longer. He’ll introduce himself to the world when he’s ready._

“Orange looks terribly unflattering against my skin,” Victor complains when he sees the magazine. “But the designer insisted. _Pumpkin season_ , he said. Bah, _pumpkins!_ What’s so great about looking like a _pumpkin_? I look like even paler against _orange_. And my hair...it’s terrible.”

“You would look great in just about anything,” Yuuri mumbles reassuringly. Victor is scrolling through his phone on the couch and Yuuri is spooned behind him, occasionally catching a snippet of a caption or two. Victor is watching a documentary about sea lions, but it’s muted and Yuuri has learned absolutely nothing about sea lions.

“Oh, _Yuuri_ ,” Victor croons. Yuuri pats his butt for comfort. Victor launches into a tale about Yakov attempting to make pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving one year, despite neither Victor or Yakov being American. Yuuri zones out midway through the explanation and mentally catalogues his appointment schedule for tomorrow. “It was delicious, but very dry, and we almost burned down the house,” Victor concludes. Yuuri nods, like he was listening the whole time. Victor nudges him with his elbow, needing a verbal affirmation.

“Mhm,” Yuuri agrees. _I love you_ , he thinks, and wonders if Victor can hear him. _I want to marry you, but I am afraid._

“Are you awake?” Victor twists around to look at him. “Do you want me to go home?”

“ _Mhmmm_ ,” Yuuri insists.

“Did you really fall asleep?”

“ _Mfhmmm_.” Yuuri shushes him by shoving his palm over Victor’s mouth. Victor licks it in retaliation, but Yuuri is too sleepy to be grossed out. “ _Shhhh_. Sleep.”

“Is it okay if I stay over?” Victor asks. He’s stayed over in the past, so Yuuri’s sleep-addled brain doesn’t try to figure out why Victor’s got cold feet all of a sudden.

“Mhhhm,” Yuuri swings an arm and a leg over Victor, effectively pinning him to the couch. “ _Sleep_.”

Yuuri falls asleep almost instantly. He almost misses the soft “I love you,” Victor whispers into his hair. He smiles and tightens his arms around Victor.

* * *

**From Otabek:**

You up?

**From Otabek:**

hey assface i can see your read receipts

**From Otabek:**

Are you awake

**To Otabek:**

no

**From Otabek:**

SIGH

* * *

“My boyfriend is not human,” Victor says, as he watches Yuuri perform his 400th burpee in a row. Victor usually goes to the gym by himself. He’s a model, he _does_ have a training regimen. His personal fitness trainer would kill him if they knew what Victor had for dinner last night.

But he likes to watch Yuuri in tight spandex, so he figured he’d get his gym time for the week done and tag along. Yuuri goes to the gym at least three times a week, and if he can’t make it, he jogs around the block. Yuuri has a shorter stride but better stamina, which is why Victor usually lags behind and Yuuri leaves him in the dust. (Victor also loves watching Yuuri run from the back angle, because Chris was right. His ass really looks amazing.)

“It’s only thirty,” Yuuri says in between breaths.

“ _Only thirty,_ ” Victor repeats, torn between feeling impressed and feeling a sympathetic urge to vomit.

“Did you know,” Yuuri says, while still doing pushups, “that according to studies performed on Navy Seals, at the point where you feel like you’re going to throw up, you still have sixty-percent more energy to spend?”

Victor stares at him. “I am not a Navy Seal,” he says, stone-faced.

Yuuri forces Victor to shower separately from him, which is the only bad part of their gym date. “Stop it,” Yuuri scolds him, after Victor sneakily tries to slip into his stall. “You’re going to get me banned here too.”

“Last time was a misunderstanding,” Victor says, grinning despite himself at the memory.

Yuuri’s faced is flushed, either from the steam, Victor’s insinuation, or because he too, remembers what happened. “And we’re still banned from going back,” he reminds Victor. “ _Separate_ shower.”

“What about when we get home?” Victor pleads.

“I’m going to watch some tv and make dinner,” Yuuri rubs his hair under the water, clearing out the shampoo. “You can do whatever you want.”

“Yuuri,” Victor whines. Yuuri picks up his head and Victor catches a glimpse of a smirk -- so Yuuri’s teasing. That’s good. Yuuri showers faster than Victor, so he’s already dressed by the time Victor steps out. He whips Victor lightly with a towel and when Victor spins around to accuse him of doing so, Yuuri vehemently and innocently denies it.

Yuri is on their couch when they arrive at the house, so Victor’s plans are further ground to pieces. He’s always happy to see Yuri, because he raised that kid, but he had plans, dammit.

“You guys are late,” Yurio greets them. “That dinner thing? You’re not going to make the reservation on time.” He’s playing Halo. Or whatever shooty-stabby game he’s hooked onto now.

Right. Victor scheduled a Very Important Date tonight. Family dinner. He almost forgot. He should take Yuuri’s advice and write notes for himself. That’s why he needs Yuuri, the calendar book, all the careful scheduling is handled by him.

Victor pecks Yuuri on the cheek and suggests which suit Yuuri should wear in his ear. Yuuri leaves to change, and Victor jumps over the couch to land beside Yurio. “Brush your hair, comb your teeth, let’s go, we’re very late,” Victor sing-songs.

“They won’t cancel reservations for Victor Nikiforov,” Yurio elbows him. “And I’m not staying. Mila’s taking me clubbing.”

“Ah,” Victor says, slightly disappointed.

“I know you want some alone time with Katsudon,” Yurio wrinkles his nose like something particularly foul-smelling entered the room. “I’ll pass on dessert.”

“Ah, my lovely Yurio does really care! It’s good to know you love us, _Yuratchka_ ,” Victor croons. Yurio tries to stab him with the controller. Victor wraps his arms around him and rocks him like a child.

“I don’t!” Yurio hisses, frantically attempting to escape Victor’s hug. “Get - _off_ - _me!_ ”

“Are you going to get dressed?” Yuuri interrupts. Victor looks up, and Yuuri is wearing the nice suit that Victor loves. Victor loves that suit, and he loves it even more when Yuuri is the one wearing it. “Is it far away, are we going to be late?”

“It’s a surprise,” Victor and Yuri say in unison. Yuri looks like he wants to die. Victor is delighted.

“Uhh,” Yuuri says. “Okay.”

Victor changes, and Yurio changes into something more formal than his ripped jeans and tiger-print hoodie. He still stands out in the restaurant. The food is good, Yuuri drinks slightly more wine than he probably means to, and Victor is happy.

As promised, Yurio leaves before dessert. He speeds away in Mila’s car, and it’s just Yuuri and Victor and a fancy restaurant under the dim golden lighting, tucked in the corner at a table by themselves.

Yuuri looks beautiful. _I’m going to marry this man,_ Victor thinks, _and nothing is going to stop me._

“Hey,” Victor says, interrupting Yuuri’s story about gingivitis and a patient named Ginger Vitus. Maybe he’s talking about a stripper. Victor isn’t really sure.

Yuuri drops the story and focuses on Victor. “Hey,” he says, and smiles as he takes Victor’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Did I ever tell you why I moved to Detroit?” Victor doesn’t think he ever shared this with Yuuri. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“No.” Yuuri pushes up his glasses where they’re sliding off his nose. “But I’ll listen.”

Victor takes Yuuri’s hand and turns it over, so the palm is facing up. “My mother used to dumped me at my grandmother’s and saw me once a year, until Yakov got custody. I have a mother. She just didn’t want me.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispers.

“Anyway, Yakov took me in. I was seven at the time. I got into child modelling -- Lilia, you met her -- she said I had the face for it. I was signed to a name brand by sixteen. I wanted to continue modelling, but Yakov told me to go to university. I wasn’t made for schooling. I dropped out and ran away with Lilia. I saw the world. I went everywhere.”

He traces the life-line along Yuuri’s palm. “And after all that, I found nothing. I still felt nothing but a big, empty emptiness inside of me. I adopted Makkachin. Another stray.”

“You’re not a stray,” Yuuri says in a hushed voice. “You’re loved. You’re here. Not a stray.”

“And while visiting Yakov’s city,” Victor continues. “I stopped by the orphanage I grew up in. I saw a boy there, no older than ten years old, and do you know what I saw in him?”

“Yuri,” Yuuri guesses.

“I saw a boy like me. Lost in this big, confusing, scary world. I signed papers to foster him that day. It was difficult, raising him on my own. But I did it. I did it because nobody should be alone.” God, this wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have. He’s supposed to be happy, so why does he feel like he could be crying?

“I know, he’s all grown up now. He wasn’t alone.” Yuuri says gently. “And you’re not alone. You have me.”

Victor thinks, _I know, I know_. But a smaller, quieter, much scarier voice whispers, _Do I?_

* * *

There’s a letter with no return address.

Yuuri has brought in the mail, and he’s working his way through the junk and bills when he finds it at the bottom of the pile. No name, no note who it’s from. The letters are clearly written in cyrillic, but Yuuri would recognize _Виктор Никифоров_ anywhere. Even if he didn’t recognize it, “Victor” is written in English underneath it.

The stamp is expensive and international. It’s traveled a long way to get here. Yuuri hesitates over the seal -- would Victor be mad if he opened it? Victor won’t be back for another week, since he’s doing a show in Milan.

Yuuri doesn’t want to be a snoop. He knows Victor’s stressed from work. It can wait. _It can wait._

He tucks it under the lamp on Victor’s side of the bed. It’s not hidden, but it’s not in plain sight either. Yuuri will ask Victor what it means, or if he wants to read it. He reaches the end of the stack of bills and swipes away the papers to clear his desk, and stares down at the large calendar pad under all his papers.

He stares a little harder.

_Is it already June?_

_...June is almost over, actually._

Yuuri looks at the calendar and realizes, out of the blue, he’s kept Victor’s ring in the bottom of his desk draw for a week and never took it out. He had the thing glued to his pocket for the better half of a year. He should...do something about that. What’s the point of an engagement ring if he’s not going to use it?

So that’s why Yuuri flips open his schedule book and picks out a date. _July 2nd._ Good weather, hopefully, and right before a holiday so more people are likely to be in town. Great.

...

That’s next week.

…

_Fuck._

* * *

The day arrives. Phichit, who’s the mastermind and choreographer behind the entire event, arrives first to shake the nerves out of Yuuri's trembling, fear-stricken body.

“You got this,” Phichit claps him on the shoulder. “Repeat after me. You can do it. _You can do this.”_

“I can do this,” Yuuri says.

* * *

“I can’t do this,” Yuuri says two hours later, wearing his nice suit after Phichit threatened to strangle him with his ugly tie if he didn’t chill out.

“You are a badass,” Phichit reminds him. He reaches over to put his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder for comfort. “Remember that time people called you _Denver’s Own Kick Ass_ and --”

“ _Don’t_.” Yuuri slaps his hand away.

“-- and you saved that girl getting mugged by punching him right in the face? You are, clearly, more badass than anyone here.”

“And then I _fell down the stairs_ ,” Yuuri reminds him. “I had a _concussion_.”

“You were _shoved_ down the stairs,” Phichit corrects. “And you took your bio-chem final, practically comatose, and still passed! Sounds like a badass to me.”

Chris saunters over at the tail end of the conversation and slings an arm over Yuuri’s shoulder. “Agree to disagree, Chulanont,” he purrs. “From where I’m looking, Yuuri’s not a _badass_. He’s got a _great_ ass.”

“ _You’re_ an ass,” Phichit shoves him away. Chris winks and slaps Phichit’s ass as he passes. Phichit flushes all the way up to his ears: a blush Yuuri hasn’t seen since he’d brought Phichit to a bar on his birthday and Phichit got _slammed_ and propositioned to every guy in the room. He propositioned to the guy serving drinks at the bar. He propositioned to the bouncer. He propositioned to Yuuri. To this day, Phichit claims it was the worst hangover of his life.

“You _didn’t_ ,” Yuuri gapes.

“Nope, focus on _you_ , you’re proposing to the love of your life,” Phichit hisses. “And it’s _not_ \-- it’s _complicated_!”

Yuuri smirks, and almost forgets his vomit-worthy nerves driving him up the wall. Almost.

Yuri is skulking by the doorway to the house. “He’s upstairs,” Yuri blows a disinterested huff of air in Yuuri’s direction, spraying his hair away from his face. It’s so long now Yuuri could braid it. Yuri would kill him.

“Alright,” Yuuri says, which is more to reassure himself than anything else. “Okay.”

Their backyard is slowly filling with silent observers. The plan is simple. Yuuri, dressed in a nice suit, will call Victor down and lead him out to the deck overlooking the yard, and propose in front of everyone. Very public, per Yuri’s strong suggestion (demand, actually). Yuuri has four note cards in his breast pocket. They’re probably sweaty. Yuuri put them over his heart in hopes the loving words inside would bolster his confidence, because Yuri is right, he’s a sap. The cards are more of a safety net. Yuuri’s had the words memorized for ages.

He’s doing this.

Yuri runs off to find Yakov or Otabek and complain about Yuuri being romantic or something. Yuuri takes several deep breaths. He turns around and Phichit gives him a thumbs up. Everyone’s talking in hushed tones, as not to alert Victor there’s anything going on. Yuuri’s sent out a group text to remind everyone to park down the block so Victor won’t spot their cars.

Well, here goes nothing.

Yuuri slides open the glass panel doors that separate their house from the deck. The stairs are a little ways beyond that. “Victor!” he calls.

He waits a beat. Victor doesn’t immediately respond, so Yuuri calls his name again.

Victor doesn’t respond the second, or third time. Yuuri steps into the house and closes the door behind him. _So much for a flawless plan._

He finds Victor in their bedroom, his head bowed and his hands buried in his hair. “Hey,” Yuuri says, and kneels down beside him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Ah,” Victor says. “It’s...nothing.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, pulling his hands away. Some of his nails are red, like he dug into his scalp deep enough to draw blood. “Talk to me. Please.”

Wordlessly, Victor hands him The Letter. The twisted expression on Victor’s face and the way he’s holding it gives Yuuri an ominous feeling about what’s inside.

“My mother hasn’t spoken to me in _twenty years_ ,” Victor says. With trembling hands, he peels open the letter. “Twenty years and she sends me a --” He jerks violently. Yuuri flinches, but Victor doesn’t tear the letter. He folds it in half and slides it back into the envelope.

“Did you read it?” Yuuri asks.

“I’m afraid,” Victor says, in a small voice. “I’m afraid of what it says.”

“Can I hold you?” Victor makes a barely-there nod. Yuuri, on his knees, scoots up beside him and wraps his arms around him.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m still here. No matter what that letter says, you don’t have to read it alone. I’m with you. Forever.”

Victor shakes, and Yuuri holds him tighter.

“Thank you,” Victor says, after a couple minutes. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be,” Yuuri says, pulling back. He keeps his hands on Victor’s shoulders so Victor looks at him. “I’m here with you through all of it, remember?”

“Yeah,” Victor says. He looks dazed. “Uh, what’s with the suit?”

“Suit?” Yuuri looks down, puzzled.

Oh.

_Shit._

“Suit,” Yuuri repeats. “Well.”

Yuuri had planned all of this out. He was going to bring Victor downstairs and walk him through their tiny garden and recite a poem and a list of all the things he loves about Victor and why he’s going to marry him and stay with him forever. He’s going to kneel down and show Victor the ring he picked out, the one he spent hours agonizing over whether he made the right choice, all while knowing there was no other ring he would buy. He could’ve done this any number of ways. Yurio suggested he proposed in the ice stadium and convinced the staff to install a kiss-o-tron so they could have their very public, very loving proposal. (Yuuri obviously declined this suggestion.)

He could’ve done it anyway, and he realizes: it doesn’t matter how or when. In the end, he’ll remember this night, his sweaty tux, his shaking hands, the feeling of his heart trying to free itself from his chest, and the look on Victor’s face.

“Marry me,” Yuuri says.

Victor freezes. Yuuri’s heart falls through his chest, abruptly flies back up and launches itself into outer space, then falls right back down to earth and shatters.

Victor lifts his head. Yuuri doesn’t know what his own expression looks like, but the sheer awe and confusion on Victor’s is beautiful, stunning, and Yuuri loves the confused wrinkle in his brow.

“I have a ring, and a speech and a --” Yuuri stammers. He fumbles and of course, because this whole thing is a trainwreck, nearly drops it. He offers it up to Victor, who’s doing a pretty good statue impersonation.

“You,” Victor whispers. He swallows. “You want to _marry_ me?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I --”

Victor wraps his arms around his neck.

Yuuri, more than a little confused, says, “I’m sorry?”

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” Victor says. “I’m -- you really? You want to marry _me_? You’re sure?”

“Always,” Yuuri says, and nearly chokes. “Yes. You’re it for me.”

He can see the doubts and questions on Victor’s face, but they vanish in a second. He throws his arms around Yuuri and cries into his shoulder, but they’re happy tears. Yuuri starts crying almost immediately. Victor leans back only so Yuuri can slide the ring onto his finger.

“What a pair,” Yuuri mumbles. “Two big crybabies.”

“I never used to cry,” Victor says. “But I’m so glad I can now. Because of you. I feel so much, Yuuri, _Yuuri_ \--” and pulls him up for a kiss.

It wasn’t quite like Yuuri planned, but it will do. It’s perfect, actually. “When we get married,” Yuuri tells him, and he feels feverish, sweaty and gross and so, so, in love. “We have to go to Hasetsu -- I have to show you where I grew up. I saw your home, I need to show you mine.”

“Okay,” Victor says. He hiccups a little. “Okay.”

Yuuri stands and Victor clings to him like he can’t bear to part with Yuuri for even a second. Yuuri feels about the same. They stagger down the stairs and out onto the deck.

Chris is waiting for them at the door. “Ah, that’s it then,” Chris says. There’s something strange on his face, but he’s smiling. It seems genuine enough. “Give it up for the husbands to be, who couldn’t wait for the rest of us!”

The cheers and shouts in the backyard could probably drown out a rock concert. Victor’s eyes are red and puffy, and Yuuri is sure he looks equally crap, but they’re beaming too much to notice. Yurio rolls his eyes and discreetly snaps pictures of their happy faces and gleaming rings and saves them in an album titled “ _secret - don’t look_ ” that catalogues four year’s worth of dates and sappy love confessions leading up to this moment.

Yuuri hands Phichit a crisp ten-dollar bill. Phichit looks so incredibly pleased with himself, he doesn’t notice there’s a dick drawn over the back of it, and a picture of a butt-shaped face kissing a crudely drawn box-face labeled “ _Peecheet_.”

Yurio wanders over around the time Victor’s hammered and singing his love and praises about Yuuri’s eyes to the party guests. He punches Yuuri in the arm, and Yuuri is just tipsy enough he doesn’t really feel it. He’s nowhere near Victor though, at least not for a while.

“Just because I don’t live with you two assmunchers anymore doesn’t mean I’m gone,” Yurio says. It comes out sounding like a threat, because almost everything he says or does could be loosely interpreted as a threat. Yuuri can’t wait to see how the press handles him next season. “And if you break his heart I’m gonna break _every single one_ of your fucking teeth.”

“I’m a dentist, I can fix that,” Yuuri tells him, incase he forgot. “I’m not a cardiologist though. Can’t fix a broken heart. Which I will have, if I break his. We’ve got the same heart now, you know?”

“What the _Christ_ are you talking about?” Yuri demands.

Yuuri might be a little more tipsy than he thought. “You’re... _too_ young. To understand. But our hearts are the same now, so if he’s hurting, I’m hurting. And when he’s happy, I’m happy. Yeah?”

Yuri blinks at him. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Yuuri pulls him in for a hug and presses a sloppy kiss on the top of his head. Yuri screams and Yuuri laughs.

He’s in love, he’s a little drunk, and he’s got the rest of his life to look forward to. He can’t wait.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Hangover:
> 
> There is a large, very bright, very annoying ray of sun shining directly into Yuuri’s eyes. He opens them and that is a mistake.
> 
> “Holy fuck, I want to die,” Yuuri groans. He’s not wearing a shirt. Or pants. He’s not sure how losing either of those articles of clothing occured. He’s definitely sure he doesn’t want to remember.
> 
> “I’m already dead,” Victor groans in agreement, beside him. Miraculously, they both appear to be in the bedroom, mostly unharmed and intact. “Remember me dearly.”
> 
> “You’re both so fucking overdramatic,” Yurio says, kicking down their door, too chipper for ass-o'clock in the morning. 
> 
> “We had a good run,” Victor confides mournfully to Yuuri. “It’s a shame we didn’t get married before we passed. Do you think they could marry our corpses?”
> 
> “That sounds...gross.” Yuuri yawns. “And illegal.”
> 
> “I’m leaving,” Yuri stomps out the door he just entered and slams it behind him. 
> 
> [[for mobile users: cолнышко >> solnyshko - sun.]]  
> >> [[thank you for reading have a great day/night and also please leave a kudos or a comment i need them to survive and feed my family otherwise i sit with 16 unfinished drafts in my google docs for 29 years. for the cheap price of saying "i liked this" you give me the motivation to keep going. and hey...thanks.
> 
>  **edit january 24 of 2018** \- finally replied to all your comments!!!!!!!! sorry it took me 6 months ksfsdsd]]


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